


The Joy of Creation

by SinnamonSatyrs



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Fanfiction of Fangame, Gen, Hallucinations, Insomnia, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paranoia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Joy of Creation, The Joy of Creation: Reborn, fanwork
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-06 12:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6753832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinnamonSatyrs/pseuds/SinnamonSatyrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He lifted his head from the table, letting out a tired grunt as the phone's rings practically blasted into his eardrums. He rubbed his temple with his left before struggling to pick up the phone that lay someplace around the top of his messy desk...</i> </p><p>  <i>"Scott? Hey... you there buddy? We've been trying to reach you for the past few days..."</i></p><p>  <i>Scott drifted off from the phone call, now ignoring his fellow colleague. Worry began to wrench itself into his gut. He spun around wildly, disturbing the contents of his desk. A pair of illuminated eyes stared him down as it neared him. He could practically feel the inexistent, cold breaths of air hitting his face.</i></p><p>  <i>He blindly reached for his trusty flashlight, but found nothing helpful in his time of need.</i></p><p>  <i>He, Scott Cawthorn, utterly fucked up, perhaps in more ways than one.</i></p><p>***</p><p>A fanwork dedicated to Scott Cawthorn, as well as the creator of The Joy of Creation for refueling inspiration of an idea that has long passed in my literary years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Is God Afraid of His Creations?

>Welcome [GUEST] _  
>Logging in... _  
>Login Successful._  
>Opening Filename: PROLOGUE_IS_GOD_AFRAID_OF_HIS_CREATIONS?

\--->

Days would pass beyond his own control, and there was nothing he could have done about it. There had been days where he'd sit at his desk all day, ignoring his family. These endless days would be passed by spending time on the computer, drawing character sketches, tailoring plots, eating a snack or two, perhaps watch something, or on the rare occasion, be with family...

But every single goddamn day, he was never at peace. He knew that somewhere in the world, people kept talking and talking about his game, whether it be theories or complaints, it still scorched the scar he bore. He'd never had known that one of his games would hit such a high point. It was an interesting thought, but it had it's downside. Like previously mentioned, people didn't know when to shut up. But regardless, he's gotten used to the constant 'What about the next game', 'plothole much?' and other similar comments. 

So here he sat, fiddling with his 'work'. Some uncompleted sketches, programs, and food wrappers were carelessly strewn about on his office desk. He couldn't quite complain, work does pay after all. 

Just not in sleep, he supposed. Ah yes, sleep... It came a little hard to come by. And he had no one to blame it on but himself. 

HE created these 'fictional' monsters.

HE fixed them in all the wrong ways.

HE kept them going.

HE was the very reason of their existence.

HE held the power to stop. But, 

HE CAN'T.


	2. >NIGHT '1'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Night 'one' of the nightmares.

>Welcome back, [GUEST] _  
>Login Successful._  
>Opening Filename: NIGHT_1

\--->

There was nothing that he loved more than sleep. Scott treated the very thing as a delicacy he'd treat himself with if his brain and body allowed. And if it was a particularly lucky sleep, there would be no nightmares, but the bittersweet static of... something...

But sadly, today would become another sleepless night.

He lifted his head from the table, letting out a tired grunt as the phone's rings practically blasted into his eardrums. He rubbed his temple with his left hand before struggling to pick up the phone that rested somewhere on the desk. 

"Scott? Hey... you there buddy? We've been trying to reach you for the past few days..."

Scott drifted off from the phone call, now ignoring his fellow colleague. Worry began to wrench itself into his gut. He spun around wildly, disturbing the contents of his desk. A pair of illuminated eyes stared him down as it neared him. He could practically feel the inexistent, cold breaths of air hitting his face.

He blindly reached for his trusty flashlight but found nothing helpful in his time of need.

He swallowed the lump in his throat as a vivid vision swam across his eyes. Has he ever mentioned how death felt? No matter how many times he'd cross paths with death, he could never get used to it. Ever.

A metal hand ensnared his neck, squeezing it to the point where Scott would see things. He couldn't help but wheeze as the world spun and turned colors he shouldn't be seeing. Bright lemon-green rings rippled before his eyes, parting and rejoining in a seemingly endless cycle. And there was the growing purple color that threatened to swallow the sight of his bulging eyes. The grip on his throat tightened ever so slowly in tune with the squeak of rusty servos struggling to choke the man. This sort of death was nearly a relief, for some reason as sad as it was to think of it so. Call him suicidal, but he couldn't help but half-heartedly laugh at the fact this was the closest he's ever gotten to getting 'high'. 

Scott let his hands drop from the pair of metal ones as he hoped from the bottom of his heart that luck would be on his side. He reached behind him, blindly feeling the mess he dared call his office. Papers and pencils clattered to the floor as the search became spastic. Time would only tell when he would be at his last breath.

A familiar object brushed past his fingers, and Scott forced himself to backtrack on that object. He clutched it to the best of his abilities, and ran his fingers across it one last time. There it was.

He weakly flashed the desk lamp towards the animatronic, revealing which character had chosen to strike first. 

A pirate fox squinted its single yellow eye as the light washed over it, successfully blinding the rotting creature. It let out an inhuman screech before releasing its prey and throwing itself back out into the outdoors.

Scott fell to his knees, grasping at the bruising skin his captor had held him by. Choked gasps of air and whimpers came from his mouth as he recovered, failing to acknowledge the crystalline tears streaming down his cheeks. He sat himself up, resting his back against the legs of his desk. He let out a tired smile as soft, hoarse laughter came from his lips. His heart continued to pound in his chest even as his blurred vision returned to its regular clarity.

He lifted his arm a little ways from his face, squinting at the faint white numbers of his watch.

He still had a lot to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm... This may or may not be based upon experience. Just, word of advice, don't do it. There's so many things to do and see instead of giving up.
> 
> I admit, it feels rather pitiful to look back upon it.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh... I'm what I like to call, 'High on Inspiration', so I'm just jotting all of this down and publishing it once I'm done, so I'm pretty much speeding through (also writing sometime around 10pm, not unsual, but ya' know, tired and the like.) . So, please excuse any mistakes, and feel free to point any out or give constructive critiism. I haven't wrote in a year after all, I'd like to see your opinions on my current writing quality.
> 
> I hope one of you guys caught my title reference to Spy Kids...
> 
> Here is the original quote --  
> Dr. Romero: Do you think God stays in heaven because he too, lives in fear of what he's created?
> 
> Also excuse my use of the overused "YOU CAN'T". I couldn't help myself? :v
> 
>  **Behind the scenes**  
>  Did you know that when my friend explained FNAF to me, I had pictured it is a freeroam?


End file.
